


Pass the Flame

by jackiedupre



Category: Gone With the Wind - All Media Types, Gone With the Wind - Margaret Mitchell
Genre: Alternate Universe, Alternate Universe - 1920s, Alternate Universe - 1930s, Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, F/M
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2021-03-06
Updated: 2021-03-09
Packaged: 2021-03-16 19:41:26
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 2
Words: 4,520
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29705604
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/jackiedupre/pseuds/jackiedupre
Summary: The year is 1927, and Scarlett O'Hara is the world's worst flapper. Desperately in love with Ashley Wilkes, a banker new to Wall Street, she tries to embrace the loose, counterculture lifestyle as much as she rejects it. But when Ashley tells her he's marrying another girl and she has a strange meeting with an even stranger man, Scarlett will make a decision that changes her life.
Relationships: Rhett Butler/Scarlett O'Hara
Comments: 2
Kudos: 9





	1. Chapter 1

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Someday I'll write a normal GWTW fic. Today is...not that day.  
> This was borne of my obsession with Classic Hollywood (which is closely related to my obsession with GWTW). I own nothing, obviously, and especially not the lines I lifted from the book.

If Scarlett could do it over again, she thought in the dim, slightly damp hallway, she would never have gone to that gin mill.

As it was, she knocked on the door of Charles Hamilton’s dormitory with all the excitement of a man meeting his maker.

“Yes? Oh, hi, Scarlett.” The brown-haired boy blushed to his roots, and Scarlett very nearly rolled her eyes. “Please come in.”

She strolled inside, trying to pretend his cluttered, cramped room was the Ritz-Carlton. Columbia University could pick up a few tricks from Albert Keller. “Thanks."

“So,” he started, wringing his hands. “Haven’t seen you in a while, not since--”

“Mhmm,” she interrupted him. “You have a cigarette?” He fumbled with his case, and to Scarlett’s surprise managed to light one for her. She took a long drag. “I have some news.”

“What about?” Charles stopped fidgeting and put his hands in his pockets.

“I...um. You know the other night?”

Great. The blush had begun to fade, but a few words from her brought the red back to his face. “Yes,” Charles said, grinning like an idiot.

“Calm down, kiddo. I just thought you should know that there were some, er, unintended consequences.” Scarlett eyed the trash can. She’d already barfed up her breakfast. Upchucking at the very idea of having Charles Hamilton’s...baby didn’t sound too much worse. He still looked clueless, so she stroked her stomach, holding his gaze.

Charles stared at her, his goofy smile fading. “Scarlett, are you...” He gestured at her abdomen.

She sighed and took another drag from her cigarette. “Yeah. Thanks to you.”

“Oh, my God! That’s berries, it really is!” He began pacing up and down the tiny bedroom, practically bouncing with excitement. Scarlett wanted to scream. How could he be so dense?

“It is not! I’m sixteen, Charlie, and I’m not even married.”

He stopped and turned towards her. “We could...er, what I mean to say is, we can get married.”

Scarlett relaxed the tiniest bit. “When? You’re the first to know. I don’t want to spill the beans until you’ve got the ring on my finger.”

“That reminds me!” Charles slapped his forehead. “You need an engagement ring--”

She cut him off with a wave of her hand, and his arms snapped to his sides. What was she, a sergeant? “I don’t care much about that. What I do care about is when we’re getting hitched. It’s gotta be in the next few weeks. No one else can know.”

Charles nodded rapidly, cheeks flushed. Scarlett had to wonder if this was the only interesting thing to ever happen to him. “Okay, what month do you prefer? Melly always said she wanted a June wedding.”

Good God, the man was thick. “It doesn’t matter to me,” she said slowly, enunciating every syllable. “I just want to get married as soon as possible. May, June, whenever works.” He nodded again. Scarlett couldn’t help comparing him to a chicken. “Don’t worry, honey. I’ll take care of everything. You focus on our baby.”

Scarlett stubbed out her cigarette. “Thanks.”

She turned to leave, but stopped when he called out, “Wait!”

“Yeah?”

“Even before you told me, I was planning on proposing to you. Even before, uh, the other night.” Charles got down on one knee, pulling a simple silver band from his coat. “I was gonna get you a nicer ring, but this’ll do for now, right?" He took a deep breath. "Scarlett O’Hara, will you marry me?”

Hadn’t she signed her life away to him already?

“Yeah, Charlie, I will.” She held out her hand and he slid the ring on her finger.. “I gotta get going. Thanks, kiddo. I’ll phone you tomorrow.”

He nodded, beaming from ear to ear. Scarlett rolled her eyes as she closed the door. She stared at the ring on her finger. It might as well have been a giant spider.

How could she have been so stupid? she wondered as she waved down a taxi. Petting and necking were one thing, but going as far as she had? What would her mother say?

The thought brought Scarlett close to tears in the back of the taxi. If Mother knew what she’d done, Scarlett would be sent to live with her aunts faster than you could say “Bible belt.”

She pictured the conversation with dread. “But why?” Mother would ask her, trying to understand. The problem was, Scarlett didn’t know herself.

That night six weeks ago hadn’t started off any differently than most. It wasn’t Scarlett’s night to work, so instead of dancing with old men, she danced and drank with sheiks in a high-class speakeasy.

“High-class” didn’t mean much, as far as overall enjoyment went. Scarlett had partied, and had a good time, in much worse places--dingy cellars with a few tables and a bottle of gin. But this particular spot had all the trimmings.

Sure, the floor was creaky wood and the ceiling hung low, but it had a fully stocked bar, including brandy, Scarlett’s favorite. Musicians played on the far side of the room, designating the half of the space used for dancing. The other half consisted of tables and shabby-yet-comfortable chairs.

For the New Yorkers who made the party scene their life, the Oak Cafe on Twelfth Street--its basement, really--was the ideal destination for a night out. Scarlett knew most of the regulars, and most of the regulars knew her. Brent and Stuart Tarleton, for example. Perpetually tipsy and always ready to do something crazy (especially if it was for her), the two were some of her favorite people.

Scarlett had barely entered the speakeasy when they shouted her name, both pointing to the dance floor. She grinned. After a long day of arguing with her mother (for once with Suellen on her side) about her bobbed hair, Scarlett needed to loosen up.

Unfortunately for her, it was not to be. Scarlett only had time for one round with the twins when any _joie de vivre_ dried up. Brent and Stuart blurred into nothing when Ashley Wilkes entered, looking around frantically. His first time at a speakeasy, she supposed, trying to stay cool amidst the fluttering in her stomach and her rapid pulse. He hadn’t seen her in this very fashionable and very revealing dress yet, had he? She couldn’t decide if she wanted him to.

God, Ashley. The last time she’d spoken to him had been the day his engagement had been announced. To Melanie Hamilton, of all people. Scarlett had to admit that she had a nice figure and looked gorgeous wearing the latest fashions, but that wasn’t enough. A woman had to be peppy and vibrant to keep up with a man, and the girl was more concerned with helping the poor than her pallid face or stringy hair. That day, she’d come very close to slapping him and settled for approaching Charles Hamilton and asking him to take her out. It hadn’t made him very jealous, which Scarlett counted as a failure on her part. Or maybe Charles'.

Please, she prayed. Please don't let him notice me. A first for her, but Scarlett had her reasons. Just because she was in love with him and had been for nearly two years didn’t mean she wanted the fun-loving flapper she was here to be obliterated. If he told her mother…

Nerts. Ashley had spotted her. She turned towards the bathroom, but he caught her a few paces away.

“Scarlett? What are you doing here?”

“I could ask you the same question,” she said, running a hand up his arm. “I didn’t think I’d find you in a place like this.” And she wasn’t supposed to. That was the whole point--keep the flapper lifestyle separate from the perfect Edwardian girl she played at home. Ashley was messing with the system. But still...revealing her secret to him felt exciting, new.

“I’m meeting a business associate here.”

Scarlett swirled her brandy around with her finger. “That’s berries, Ash.”

“Now, won’t you tell me why you’re breaking the law and wearing--that?” His cheeks reddened. Scarlett smiled, looking at him through her lashes. Maybe there was hope for this evening after all.

“Don’t you like it?”

“It’s practically a nightgown.”

Her hand clenched around her glass of brandy. “I can wear whatever I want,” she said. Too loud.

“Of course you can, but you can’t just break the law whenever you want to,” he said in that patronizing way of his that always annoyed her. Why couldn’t he be the sweet Ashley she knew, the one she loved to spend time with? Why did he have to explain things to her constantly, things she knew half the time and had no interest in the other?

“You can’t tell me what to do. You can’t make my decisions!” Scarlett’s voice had risen to a shout now, but thanks to the music and ossified chatter, no one turned a head.

“You’re right, Scarlett. I can’t. I don’t have any sort of claim on you, or what you wear, or what you do.” His shoulders slumped imperceptibly, but she caught it. Fueled by brandy, she made up her mind.

Scarlett had been toying with the idea for weeks. Ashley saw her as more than a friend, he had to. But Scarlett didn’t think he knew the depth of her feelings for him. She’d tell him now, and then he wouldn’t marry Melanie. He couldn't!

“But you do, Ash. You do have a claim on me.” She took a step towards him. “I love you.”

Instead of smiling or kissing her, Ashley rubbed the back of his neck and sighed. “Scarlett, I’m marrying Melanie. You know that.”

The anger coiled in her chest reared its ugly head. “What about me?” Scarlett said, her voice ringing in her ears. A far cry from the soft, loving tones of a few moments ago. “Am I supposed to just sit and watch?”

“It would never work between us. You know that.” He looked around. “And you’ve got Charlie.”

“Yes, another mousy Hamilton. Don’t I feel lucky!” She spat the last word at him. When he didn’t react, she slapped him with her free hand, brandy sloshing over her shoes. Without a word, Ashley raised a hand in greeting to someone she couldn’t see and walked away from her.

Scarlett glared at the bathroom door, tears pricking her eyes. She couldn’t cry. It would mess up her eyeliner. But it sure would be nice to. Her wounded pride fought with rage directed at Ashley. The audacity of that man. Melly had to be the most boring girl on the planet.

She didn’t notice the bathroom door opening till after she’d hurled her glass of brandy at it.

Instead of a surprised shout or a curse, she heard laughter. Deep-voiced, uncontrollable laughter.

A man staggered out, holding his stomach. “This,” he gasped, “is too much.”

Scarlett gasped. “I’m sorry, sir, I-”

“Don’t be sorry. I think I’ve just been to the best show of my life.” He stood up straight. “Tell me, do you toss a cup of hooch at every man who startles you?”

Scarlett got a good look at him. He looked to be about thirty, with dark hair and swarthy skin. A black mustache graced his upper lip. Scarlett was reminded a bit of Douglas Fairbanks, back when he’d played Robin Hood.

She shook her head.

“Ah! The young man you were arguing with--I must say, the most entertaining lover’s quarrel I’ve ever listened to--that young man propelled you to such extremes that you couldn’t help but assault the next male face you saw. I’m surprised at you, Scarlett. I didn’t know that all women, even flappers, desire a husband and a home. I suppose the comfort of the past trumps progress.”

“What is your name and why are you here?” she said, trying to act disinterested. Scarlett prayed that the warm tips of her ears weren’t actually pink.

“The infamous Rhett Butler, at your service.” He bowed and Scarlett rolled her eyes. Who was this man, and why did he hold such a high opinion of himself? “I was in the restroom, relieving myself, as you do. I had just finished washing my hands when I heard a woman howling like a banshee at her rather reluctant suitor.” He tapped his chin, exaggerating the gesture. “Have you heard of honey and vinegar, my dear?”

Her face flamed red. “I don’t have to listen to you, you...you drugstore cowboy!”

“I prefer to think of myself as, oh, what do you say nowadays? A cake-eater?”

“Go to hell,” she hissed, turning on her heel.

Out of the corner of her eye, she caught Rhett Butler’s sarcastic wave goodbye. Scarlett didn’t see Brent or Stuart, so she got a new glass of brandy and sat down at the bar. After a few minutes, she'd downed it and asked the bartender for another.

And another.

And another.

Unsteadily, Scarlett threw cash on the counter and made her way to the door. If she got picked up by the cops, it was over for her. “Who cares?” she muttered to herself. Ashley wasn’t going to marry her, and all she had was Charles Hamilton, the worst consolation prize in the world.

Thoughts of her horrible fortune turned to thoughts of the bleak future, not something she pondered very frequently. Scarlett didn’t know what she wanted in life, except to have fun. Marriage sounded like a terrible bore. Her vague plan had been to have a blast as a young girl, then settle down and get married to Ashley. But he’d thrown that out the window, she thought bitterly.

Scarlett sat down on the curb and stared at her ruined shoes, still damp from the brandy. She couldn’t go home. Mother would kill her, not just for drinking but for her outfit. The epitome of Edwardian ideals, Ellen O’Hara, couldn’t stand the latest fashions. It had been hard enough to get permission to cut her hair. She’d be grounded for the rest of her life if she showed up like this.

She didn’t remember much after that, but after waking up in Charles Hamilton’s bed that morning, she had rushed home after borrowing clothes from Cathleen Calvert, who lived three blocks away from her. Pa had yelled at her for about fifteen minutes about the scare she’d given them, but Scarlett was pretty sure that if he’d known what she’d done, he would have killed Charles and probably her too.

Good God, why had she done it? Scarlett stroked her flat stomach. Poor kid. Trapping your parents together isn’t the best way to start your life.

The taxi stopped in front of her apartment, and Scarlett took a deep breath. Time to explain the ring on her finger.

Omitting a few details, of course.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> 1920s slang guide:  
> gin mill - speakeasy, or a place to get a drink during Prohibition  
> berries - "bee's knees," an exclamation of joy  
> nerts - "oh shit," basically  
> ossified - drunk  
> hooch - booze  
> drugstore cowboy - a rich older man who hangs around public spaces to pick up girls  
> cake eater - ladies' man  
> Douglas Fairbanks - silent film star known for his adventure films


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you so much for reading! I, of course, own nothing.

“Hi, Ruth,” Scarlett said uneasily. The maid raised an eyebrow. Scarlett moved her purse in front of her left hand. “Is Pa home? Or Mother?”

“They’re eating lunch. All together.”

Scarlett tossed her coat on the couch, but a stern look from Ruth convinced her to throw it into the small wardrobe next to the door.

She heard the muted clinking of silverware that meant food--probably right after her mother had said grace, or else Suellen would be whining and Pa’s baritone would overpower everyone else.

“Scarlett,” her mother said, rising from her seat at the end of the mahogany table. “You’re late.”

“I’m sorry, Mother. I was with Charlie.”

“How is he?” Pa asked through a mouthful of Waldorf salad.

“He’s great.” She sat down at her place. “Doing well in his studies.” Well, presumably. Scarlett hadn’t actually asked him, but if the papers thrown around the room were any indication, Charles had perfect grades. What a grund.

“Good. He’s studying to be a lawyer?” Ellen sipped her water.

“That’s right.” Was it? Scarlett knew the Wilkes family dabbled in law, but it was supposed to be the Hamilton's that really took to it. “He’s going to be a very successful one. Just one more year and he’ll be practicing alongside Henry.”

The meal continued in silence, unusual for the O’Hara household. Back before Prohibition, when Scarlett was just a little girl, she remembered Gerald’s booming voice at lunch and supper, helped along by whiskey. Almost every night had been a showcase for his singing abilities. But as much as he cursed the government for the ban on alcohol (and other things, things that Scarlett didn’t quite understand), Mother refused to serve so much as a glass of wine.

Now, meals certainly weren’t subdued. But things had changed. There were too many topics Scarlett didn’t want to bring up that hadn't even entered her head ten years ago, too many things left unsaid at the dinner table.

Ruth cleared the table, and Scarlett’s father retreated into his study to smoke. Mother wouldn’t have it anywhere else, probably because no one used the study for anything important. There was no need. Pa’s military pension and her mother’s stipend from her Savannah family were more than enough to live on.

Scarlett knocked on the door before opening it. The cloud of smoke didn’t bother her one bit, but she made a big show of coughing (Mother was helping Ruth wash dishes within earshot) before she closed the door. A mischievous smile formed on her father’s face.

“What?”

“Nothing. I didn’t know you were so unused to smoke.”

“Well, I am.” She looked around the study. It had always been her favorite room, with its wood paneling and soft green rug. As a child, she would sit on the desk chair and swivel it around while Pa read her stories, often adding his own commentary or forgoing the pages entirely. He’d taught her to play chess (though she wasn’t much good at it) on the pair of faded armchairs by the window. She sat down on one.

“What’s the secret?” He sat on the chair opposite her, eyes sparkling.

“It’s not really a secret. It’s, um…”

“Is this about Ashley Wilkes?” he asked. “I know that setting a date is a bit premature--”

Scarlett bit her lip. “What? They set a date?”

“Yes, it’s sudden, but Melanie has always been in poor health. They’re choosing a window where she’ll most likely be healthy, sometime in June. The invitations came this morning, Melly wants you to be a bridesmaid.” Pa cocked his head. “If it wasn’t that, what were you going to say?”

Scarlett stared at her knees. She didn’t know whether to cry or scream. Both sounded like a good idea. They’d set a date already. Ashley really didn’t want to marry her. He wanted Melanie.

Or maybe he just didn’t have a choice. Yes, that was it! Melanie needed to marry a man before she died or had to stay in the hospital for ten years, so she wouldn’t be an old maid. Ashley still loved her, then. Only his honor and familial obligations kept him from being with her. Scarlett smiled dreamily. The prospect of a forbidden love with Ashley, both married to other people yet true to each other, was an enticing one. Like Wuthering Heights, she thought, though she hadn't bothered to read most of it. Just skipped around a bit. Carreen kept telling and telling her to read it, but she could never finish more than a chapter before skipping to the end of the first half.

Pa waved a hand in front of her face and she snapped out of her reverie. “What were you going to tell me?”

Scarlett took a deep breath. “Charles Hamilton and I are engaged. We’d like to get married as soon as we can.” She held out her hand for Pa to inspect the ring.

“Come now, Katie Scarlett, what game is this?”

“It’s not a game. I want to marry him and he wants to marry me.”

Her father was not one for subtle critiques or long, ornate speeches. Instead of a raised brow or a heartfelt plea, he kept it simple. “Whatever makes you happy.”

“Thank you!” she screeched, lightheaded with relief. She threw her arms around him. Pa hugged back after a moment’s hesitation. “You have no idea what this means to me. Thank you, thank you, thank you!”

He pulled back, looking straight into her green eyes. “A marriage to Charles will make you happy?”

“Of course,” Scarlett lied. He’d know, of course. Pa always knew when she lied and always had. The difference between him and Ruth was that he went along with her tall tales and even helped her spin them, while Ruth would question her until she cracked.

“Then there’s no problem at all. I’ll speak to Mrs. O’Hara about it after supper.”

Scarlett thanked him again and practically bounced out. Maybe she should pray more often. The events of this afternoon certainly called for a rosary.

“How was work?” Suellen’s nasally voice traveled down the hall. Dammit. Scarlett wanted to phone Cathleen. The odds of success depended entirely on who her sister was talking to. She waited through the pause.

“I’m sorry, Frank. That sounds awful.”

Oh, no. Suellen’s boyfriend was the exact opposite of a lounge lizard. Frank Kennedy was pushing forty and looked to be about sixty. Scarlett disliked everything about him. Sue was only fifteen, after all, and from a rich family, and Frank was a geriatric grocer. If he’d been a millionaire, Scarlett would have encouraged her sister (or gone after the man herself), but a grocer? And not even an attractive one at that. What on earth was Sue playing at?

Scarlett made up her mind and snatched the phone from Suellen, who protested loudly.

“Hi, Frank,” she said sweetly.

“Bitch!” Suellen yanked on the cord.

“Scram!” Scarlett pushed Suellen away from the phone, ignoring the insult. She'd get Sue back later. “Sorry, darling, I've got to go,” she told Frank. She didn’t give him a chance to respond before hanging up and promptly dialing Cathleen’s number.

“Hello?”

“It’s Scarlett. Shut it, Sue! I have so much to tell you.”

“Really? Spill the beans.”

Scarlett looked around. She could hear Suellen complaining loudly to Carreen a few steps away, Mother doing the laundry in the next room. Her apartment wasn’t safe.

“I’ll call you back in a few minutes. I’m going down to a phone booth.” She hung up and threw on her coat, grabbing a fistful of change from the jar by the door.

“Hello?”

“It’s Scarlett.”

“Everything alright?”

“Yeah.” She paused. “Um, Cathleen, we can tell each other anything, right?”

“Jeepers, Scarlett, what did you do?”

“I got engaged.”

“What?” Cathleen shrieked. Scarlett winced.

“To Charlie.”

“Wait a minute. Why? You hate him. You told me that.”

“Um, you know how about a month ago I showed up at your place at the crack of dawn?”

“You were lucky I’d gotten home about five minutes earlier. Even luckier that woman was still asleep.” To this day, Scarlett didn’t know the name of Cathleen’s stepmother. It was always “her” or “that woman” or “the screwy one.”

“I slept over with Charlie that night.”

Silence.

“So now we’re getting married.”

“Baloney.”

“Do you need me to show you my ring?”

“I can’t believe this.” A muffled noise, then Cathleen’s voice was loud and clear again. “Wait, wait, wait. Is there a…”

“No, of course not,” Scarlett said quickly, heart pounding. “Charlie just thinks that if a man and a woman...you know, if that happens, they should get married. He proposed after he got his courage up.” She couldn’t hide the hint of disdain in her voice.

“You didn’t say no?”

“What could I say besides yes?” It sounded contrived and she knew it, but no one else was going to know about the baby until she and Charles had been married for a few months.

“You’re an idiot, Scarlett.”

She sighed. “I don’t know, maybe.” Definitely. “I don’t want to talk about this anymore.”

“That’s good. I can't imagine you as a housewife and I want to stop trying. So. Remember how you mentioned that guy, that Rhett Butler you ran into?”

“I remember, all right.”

“You’ll never believe what I found out about him. Apparently, he’s from Chicago. And he’s got ties to some of the gangsters over there. Like Al Capone! He joined up with them years ago because his father threw him out onto the street when he was eighteen, and--”

Scarlett laughed. “Horsefeathers. Don’t believe everything you hear. I heard that you and Stuart Tarleton had eloped last week.”

“It’s true,” Cathleen huffed. “Not the elopement. What I said about Mr. Butler. He’s here now because he’s trying to connect the people here with the people in Illinois.”

“Is that where Chicago is?”

“And he’s rich. Crazy rich. Now he’s Capone’s financial backer, because he got so rich off of gambling and bootlegging. And other, more unsavory practices.” Cathleen’s voice grew quieter, but Scarlett wasn’t sold on the story.

“I’m sure he’s got money, but trust me. Rhett Butler is nothing more than a washed-up gatecrasher who thinks he’s the biggest thing since the telephone. You’re telling me he’s a torpedo?”

“He’s not a torpedo.”

“Exactly. Anything good?”

“Stuart and India are back on again.”

“That’ll last a week.”

“Ashley and Melanie are getting married in June.”

Scarlett frowned. “Knew that.”

“No one else we both know has done anything entertaining, I'm afraid.”

She didn't particularly like what that implied. “Well, I’ve got to go, kiddo. Just used my last coin. Talk tomorrow?”

“Bye now.”

Scarlett shoved the last few nickels and dimes into her sweater pocket and trudged down the street to the family apartment. Usually gossiping with Cathleen was one of her favorite things to do, but she didn’t feel refreshed, just drained. And she still had to get through the rest of her day and a conversation with her mother. Her shoulders slumped at the thought.

Everyone loved their mother, and Scarlett wasn’t an exception to the rule--but pleasing her took so much time and effort. Mother didn’t understand that no one wore floor-length dresses out and about besides old ladies, or that smoking and drinking were what everyone did. The more she thought about it, the more Scarlett wondered: had her mother ever been young?

She sat down on the steps in front of the apartment building. Maybe her mother would be happy that she was settling down and getting married. Although Scarlett worried that she’d ask a few too many questions, lying to her was much easier than lying to Pa.

Ruth was the real problem. Ruth and Mother talked about everything, and Scarlett needed to be ready for a grilling worthy of her aunt’s day-long barbecues. Unfortunately for her, there was no preparing for that.

Scarlett groaned into her hands. If only she’d stayed at home that night. Then she’d be in denial about Ashley, she wouldn’t be carrying a child, and she wouldn’t have met that bastard Rhett Butler.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Grund - person who does schoolwork and doesn't go to parties/have an active social life  
> Lounge lizard - ladies' man  
> Jeepers - alternative for "Jesus!"  
> Horsefeathers - nonsense  
> Al Capone - Chicago gangster  
> Gatecrasher - someone who shows up to events uninvited  
> Torpedo - hired gunman


End file.
